An Ordinary Day – And a Divorce
Emily set the kettle on the stove and absentmindedly wiped the counter, though it was already clean—just part of her morning routine. James had already left for work without a word, as he had done for months now. Just the slam of the front door. It used to be different. He would wander into the kitchen, kiss her cheek, say something sweet. Now? Now they lived like strangers under the same roof.
The kettle whistled. Emily poured boiling water into her favourite cup, the one with roses—the same one James had given her for their first wedding anniversary. Thirty-two years ago. God, how time flew…
“Mum, where’s my blue jumper?” Charlotte burst into the kitchen, her eldest daughter. At twenty-eight, she still lived at home to save on rent. “I asked you to wash it yesterday!”
“It’s drying on the line. Charlie, love, don’t you think it’s time you moved out? You’re a grown woman now…”
“Mum, not this again! I’ve got a headache as it is.” Charlotte poured herself coffee from the pot Emily had prepared earlier. “By the way, Dad’s been acting weird. Last night, he was whispering on the phone, and when I walked in, he hung up straight away.”
Emily stiffened. She’d noticed it too. Not just last night.
“Probably work,” she lied—to Charlotte and to herself.
“Oh, come off it, Mum! Work at eleven at night? He’s not a surgeon.” Charlotte shrugged and dashed off to get ready.
Alone with her thoughts, Emily admitted James *had* changed. He used to tell her everything—about work, colleagues, weekend plans. Now he kept his mouth shut like he’d taken a vow of silence. And his phone? Guarded like a schoolboy hiding a bad mark.
That evening, she decided to make his favourite—cottage pie. Maybe over dinner they’d talk properly, like they used to. Charlotte was out with friends; the house was quiet. Perfect for an honest conversation.
James came home late—nearly nine. Emily had tried calling multiple times, but he hadn’t picked up.
“Where were you? I was worried!” she met him in the hallway.
“Got held up at work. Urgent report.” He didn’t even look at her before heading to the shower.
“Jamie, I made cottage pie. Your favourite. Fancy dinner together?”
“Not hungry. I’m knackered.” His voice was muffled by the bathroom door.
Emily lingered in the hallway before returning to the kitchen. The pie sat cooling in the dish. She poured herself tea and cried—quietly, so he wouldn’t hear.
When James emerged from the shower, he walked straight past the kitchen without a glance. The click of the bedroom lock echoed. He’d never done *that* before—not in thirty-two years.
That night, she lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. What was she thinking? About when things changed. About how they’d become strangers. About whether it was time for something drastic.
By morning, James had left early—before she even woke. The slam of the front door jolted her awake.
“Mum, what’s going on? Why are you sleeping out here?” Charlotte stood in the doorway, pyjama-clad and rumpled.
“My back was playing up. Sofa’s softer.” Emily folded the blanket.
“Mum, don’t lie. I’m not blind. Did you and Dad have a row?”
“Charlie, it’s not your business. Go have breakfast.”
“How is it not my business? I *live* here! I see what’s happening!” Charlotte sat beside her. “Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”
Emily studied her daughter—grown, working, independent. Maybe she *should* talk.
“Your dad and I… we’ve drifted, love. He hides from me. Won’t talk. And I don’t know what to do.”
“Have you tried sitting him down?”
“I have. He shuts down or walks away.”
“Could there be someone else?” Charlotte whispered it, but it might as well have been a shout.
The thought had crossed Emily’s mind before, but she’d pushed it away. James wasn’t like that. A family man, decent. Except… people changed.
“Don’t be daft,” she muttered.
“Mum, I’m an adult. I know things happen—especially after decades of marriage.”
Emily stood and headed to the kitchen. Charlotte followed.
“Listen, Mum, if Dad’s changed *this* much—if he won’t even talk to you—maybe it’s time to think about… well, divorce.”
“Charlie!” Emily spun around. “How can you say that?”
“Because why stay with someone who acts like you don’t exist? That’s not a life; it’s torture!”
“We’ve been together thirty-two years!”
“So? If those years mean nothing to him, why should they chain *you*?”
Emily paused. Maybe her daughter was right. What was the point of clinging to something that was already gone? But the idea of starting over at fifty-four was terrifying.
That evening, she steeled herself. When James walked in, she intercepted him.
“Jamie, we need to talk.”
“About what?” He didn’t look up from his phone.
“Us. Our marriage. Whatever’s happening between us.”
“Nothing’s happening.” He tried to sidestep her, but she blocked him.
“Stop! I’m talking to you!”
Finally, James looked at her. His eyes were tired—and something else. Annoyance? Guilt?
“Emily, not now. I’m shattered.”
“You’re *always* shattered when it’s about us. But I can’t live like this anymore! We’re strangers! You avoid me, sleep apart—”
“What do you want me to say?” James snapped. “That everything’s fine? That we’re happy? We’ve got *nothing* left! You nag, you complain—”
“*I* complain?” Emily felt something boil inside her. “Thirty-two years I’ve cooked, cleaned, raised your kids! And you call *me* ungrateful?”
“Yes, ungrateful! You’ve always got that sour look—always blaming me!”
“For *what*? For you ignoring me? For pretending I don’t exist?”
“Enough!” James threw his hands up. “I’m *done* with this! Done with this house, these conversations!”
“Done with me,” Emily said quietly.
James said nothing. And that silence spoke louder than words.
“Right,” she nodded. “Let’s divorce.”
“What?” He gaped.
“You heard me. If you’re done, so am I. Why suffer?”
“Emily, have you lost it? Divorce? At our age?”
“Is there an age limit?” She felt strangely lighter, like she’d shrugged off a heavy coat. “You’re right, Jamie. We’re strangers. No point pretending otherwise.”
“But the kids… Charlie—”
“Charlie’s grown. She’ll understand. And if she doesn’t, she’ll learn.”
James sank into an armchair, rubbing his face.
“Em… maybe we don’t have to jump to this? Maybe we try again?”
“Try *what*? You said it yourself—you’re done. And you know what? So am I. Tired of feeling invisible in my own home. Tired of living with a man who looks right through me.”
“I do see you—”
“When? When did you last say something kind? When did we last *talk*? When did you last hug me for no reason?”
James said nothing. Because there was nothing to say.
“See?” Emily smiled sadly. “I remember all of it. I remember how you used to be. But that man’s gone. And I won’t live with this one.”
Charlotte walked in, having overheard.
“What’s going on?”
“Your dad and I are getting divorced,” Emily said calmly.
“*What*?” Charlotte sat hard on the sofa. “Mum, are you serious?”
“Completely.”
“Dad? What do you say?”
James lifted his head.
“I don’t know, love. I don’t know…”
“You know what, Dad?” Charlotte’s voice turned sharp. “Mum’s right. I’ve watched you both for *months*! You talk to her like she’s staff! She cooks, cleans, does everything—and you can’t even say *thanks*! And yeah, I’ve seen you whispering on the phone—seen you deleting texts! Think I’m blind?”
“Charlie—”
“No, Dad! If there’s someone else, just *say* it! Don’t drag Mum through this! She deserves better!”
James stood.
“I’m going for a walk. Need to think.”
“Think away,” Emily nodded. “And I’ll see a solicitor tomorrow.”
As the door closed behind him, Charlotte hugged her mum.
“You’re doing the right thing.”
“I’mSix months later, Emily sat by the window of her new flat with a cup of tea, watching the first snow of winter dust the streets, feeling—for the first time in years—completely at peace.
